When I was young, life was so sharp it was painful; there wasn’t a cigarette paper to soften its direct contact with the skin.
Life was a constant smash.
Today, the pain of existence is gone, but the intensity of being in the world has dulled.
The continuous flow of boiling life is unbearable.
Happiness is no longer found in the continuous immersion of existence, but in the wisdom made possible by the detachment that comes with age.
Intensity is elsewhere.
Notes & Silence 